Worthy of a Master: The Tale of a Perfect Slave

by Chelsea Shepard

  The next day dawned sunny and bright. Well, it was a figure of speech in the cold darkness of space, but the sun certainly radiated in my heart. A thin cloud passed when I realized Khiru had already gotten up and left the room, but it dissipated when I saw the breakfast tray he'd left on the desk. So sweet of him.

  In a good mood, I forgave him for not waking me from my blissful coma. It was already late in the morning, and he was probably needed on the bridge. We'd make up for our missed romantic breakfast later.

  I allowed myself a few more minutes in bed, basking in the musky smell of pleasure, and observed my surroundings more attentively than I had the night before. The dark wood bed was the only special piece of furniture in an otherwise-ordinary bedroom decorated with standard equipment like everyone else's on the ship.

  The headboard and footboard of the bed were square grids of wooden slats held between two grooved posts. Intrigued, I bent down and saw a matching grid that stretched across the length of the bed and could be lifted into place to create a multi-purpose bondage cage.

  Something warm stirred in me and I lay back down. I imagined the cage, along with leather restraints, a gag and a blindfold, and moved my fingers down to my sex. I coated them with the liquid already flowing out of me and started drawing gentle circles around my clit. Then closer. Hardly touching.

  In my vision, Khiru was watching me behind the cage. He had taped a vibrator on my sex and there was nothing I could do to stop its incessant buzzing. My fingers pressed harder and narrowed in on their target, keeping a regular, almost automatic tempo. Khiru was grinning. "I'll see you in an hour." An hour with a vibrator? I panicked and tested my inescapable bonds. I was heating up quickly. I was the captive of a merciless alien who kept me as a pet. I would never leave this cage. I was his forever. My forefinger settled on my clit and rubbed it hard until I came. Then I let go, relieved but unsatisfied.

  I showered, ate breakfast and left the room. I couldn't wait to return.

  Alas, lunch came and went without sight of Khiru. And so did dinner. Not even a call.

  I considered leaving a message, but I didn't want to stalk him, either. Surely he was busy.

  But could he be so engaged for three straight days?

  On the evening of the third day, I was so grumpy, I avoided everyone except Vhar, who wouldn't let me dodge his lesson and insisted on educating me all day. Misreading my stormy mood for homesickness, he accompanied me to the cafeteria for dinner and made sure I ate something.

  It made things worse. I didn't want any company, except the kind that was avoiding me.

  "Not very sociable these days, are we?"

  Myhre sat next to me just as I was about to leave Vhar and go back to my room to pout. Instead, Vhar left us, clearly grateful for the interruption.

  "Are you going to tell me what's the matter, or would you rather watch me eat in silence?"

  There was no fooling around with her. I told her everything.

  "So what's wrong? You had a great time with the man you fancied. Sounds perfect to me!"

  I had expected her reaction. Sex was just another form of entertainment for Khyrians, and there was no etiquette implying you should engage in a relationship because of a sex romp. That much, I knew. But I wanted to believe it wasn't just sex between Khiru and me.

  "Did he kiss your mouth?" Myhre asked.

  Although I knew the answer, I thought about it for a second. Of all the places his lips had touched, my mouth hadn't been one of them. Much to my regret.

  "No, he didn't."

  "Then he was honest with you. It was sex and nothing more, Megan."

  My heart told me she was wrong, although I couldn't figure out why Khiru would want to hide his deeper feelings for me.

  "But sex with Khiru may not be the safest sport for you," Myhre added.

  "What do you mean? Because he's a dominant?" I asked.

  She nodded.

  "Don't worry about that. I've been waiting for someone like him all my life. I don't have much experience, but I'm a submissive. A Southie, if you prefer."

  Myhre nodded, then chewed on her meat until it was reduced to puree.

  "Do you think I should tell him?" I asked, as I perceived the irony of a Dom afraid of using ropes on me.

  Myhre finally swallowed.

  "Are you sure you're a Southie?" she asked. "It's not enough to have fantasies, you know. Some people like to think they're submissive, but they only like the idea as a romantic challenge. Once they act upon it, they're uncomfortable, disappointed, sometimes truly unhappy. This is why we have genetic analyses to confirm dreams. Always best to double-check."

  "But DNA results aren't foolproof, either?"

  "No, but if you have both the genes and the fantasies, there's no doubt left."

  I didn't question the erotic dreams of a lifetime, but if I could prove my submissiveness with clinical evidence, Khiru wouldn't be able to deny my true nature.

  "Then how do I get an analysis?"

  "You already had one. When you first boarded the ship, remember? You can go to the lab and ask for those specific results."

  I frowned. A naughty thought had just slithered across my mind. Did Khiru already know something I didn't?

  "Can anyone access those files?" I asked.

  "No, they're strictly confidential."

  I checked my mediapin. At first, I thought it was too late to go to the lab, but then I happily remembered that days never ended on the Noncha. The Blue Team was about to go to sleep, but the Green Team had already started working. I made a move to get up when Myhre stopped me.

  "There's something else I need to tell you about Khiru."

  She got all my attention back.

  "He's not only a Northie. He's a Rhysh Master."

  Rhysh, starting with the Khyrian character that was the second initial on his bracelet. I had questioned the Data about this, only to find out that using a single character from their alphabet resulted in far too many results for a successful search.

  "Rhysh is an Academy for those who want to take their sexual preference to the extreme and become a master or a slave, as the case may be. You can check the Data for details. What's important to know is that Rhysh graduates don't look at dominance and submission as sexual games. They want and need more. A full-time commitment. This is why they wear the letter: so that potential partners know what to expect. Even if you have a fondness for submission, Megan, I doubt you'll ever satisfy Khiru's requirements.

  "I don't want you to get hurt," she added softly. "Forget about him as a lover, and find yourself a cheerful Northie who'll be happy to tie you up whenever you need it, then will help you fix dinner."

  Her comforting smile didn't comfort me at all. Winning Khiru's heart proved to be harder than planned, though not impossible. Basically I needed to convince him I was worthy of him. First, I needed to visit the lab, then find more information on Rhysh, and finally, talk to the man himself.

  I certainly wasn't going to let a little sexual training get in my way.

  Chapter SEVEN

  The first part of my plan was easy. I was indeed a Southie by birth. My DNA was as explicit as the various kidnapping and torture scripts I had secretly dreamed about over the years, although it didn't say whether my desire for sexual submission was strong enough to last outside the bedroom and allow me to become a 24/7 slave. Only training and experience could teach me that.

  As far as training went, the Rhysh Academy was no piece of cake.

  Rhysh, I learned in the Data, wasn't just a college. It was an autonomous city, complete with shops, medical facilities, agricultural lands, a small harbor exclusively for the import of goods on automated barges, and a shuttle airport, which was the only way people could enter or leave. Like a high-tech fortified castle, magnetic fields shielded its perimeter, and wild woods protected its privacy. Nobody knew for sure whether these security systems were meant to prevent intrusions or escapes.

  Rhysh had an independent governing board
and lived by its own peculiar rules, all based on the powerful dynamics of dominance and submission.

  When apprentices successfully passed the application tests, they lived in Rhysh for a minimum of four years, with very limited contact with the outside world. After graduation, they were fully trained as masters or slaves, and proud to wear the Rhysh initial for the rest of their lives. They could choose to live in the city, or return to the normal world. In either case, they belonged to a unique class of Khyrians, looked upon with awe and deference for their moral qualities and physical endurance had no match on the planet.

  I was amused to read that all apprentices, even dominant Northies, spent the first year as full-time submissives. According to tradition, only a former slave could become a good master. It was hard to imagine Khiru submitting to anyone, and the thought made me appreciate how tough such training was. I felt a renewed respect for him; for the first time, I doubted if I could ever match his devotion to the cause.

  That night I dreamed of iron shackles and dungeons. When I woke up, I decided it was time to find the key to the weeping-willow secret. Oddly, during my frequent observations, I had never seen anyone walk out of the Twilight, and I liked to imagine how those victims of the flesh were eaten alive by monsters lurking in the "Forbidden Zone."

  A good secret agent needed a proper disguise. The Galleries on Skeda offered a vast selection of lilk, resina and lace garments. Resina was a lustrous, waterproof material resembling Earth's latex, but the Khyrian sap offered extensible qualities that made it particularly convenient for wear.

  I selected a black resina costume that covered my body from head to toe, leaving only my face open. A bit of make-up concealed my too-pale skin, and I could only hope the darkness I expected to find in the Twilight would hide my oval eyes.

  Mid-morning was the best time to investigate. My Blue Team would be at work – and this time, I made sure to cancel my lesson with Vhar – but the Green Team would be flocking to the Twilight for evening entertainment.

  I lingered in Vazgor Park until a group of eight partygoers, six men and two women, all dressed in various declinations of rubber and lilk, made its happy way to the large tree. One of the men was crawling on all fours, pulled on a leash by a resina-clad woman sporting the highest heels I'd ever seen.

  I followed them closely enough to pretend I was a member of their posse. I had no idea of what to expect at the door. Was there some sort of control? Identity check?

  Like my unknown companions, I bent over to walk under the foliage and saw heavy, scarlet drapes ahead of me. I was a teenager sneaking into an adult nightclub, excited and scared at the same time.

  The drapes opened onto an animated plaza rich in colors and sounds. My first impression was a theme park presented as a lively red-light district (or vice versa) with bars and boutiques, an information desk, and three long alleys leading to the main attractions. The most striking, although unsurprising, aspect was the nighttime set-up. Stepping from the permanent bright light in Vazgor Park into a starlit world was confusing, as if I'd traveled through time zones. At least I wasn't going to be unmasked. In my resina uniform, I was a perfect fit.

  I walked over to the information desk where a map was displayed.

  Private party rooms, numbered from 1 to 10, took up half the available space and were scattered on both sides of the central alley, which had just swallowed the group of eight I had followed into the Twilight.

  The right alley led to playrooms named after fantasies. Many were familiar (Dungeon, School, Hospital, Jail), others were curious, even funny (Sport Hall, Spectacle), and three had a distinctive Khyrian touch (Rhysh, Free Territory and EngCamp).

  Finally, one huge compound flanked the whole length of the left alley. It was simply called the Cabaret.

  I decided to head there.

  Countless couches, four stages, music and people everywhere, chatting, watching, dancing. The comparison with a regular entertainment hall stopped there.

  First, there were cages. Small square enclosures where Southies squatted like dogs, tall narrow ones for standing, and five birdcages suspended from the ceiling where captives could sit or kneel. I couldn't decide which kind I liked the best.

  Then, the four stages. The central one was dedicated to dancing – low, voluptuous group dancing to acoustic songs reminiscent of Earth's medieval times. The other three served quite different purposes. A tight net of ropes halfway between a spider web and a trampoline hung over the stage to my right. On the stage to my left was a structure of wooden beams (I would later learn that the beams could be arranged in any restrictive shape). And the last one in the back of the room was set up for theatrical productions with black shiny curtains hanging on all sides. That one was empty, but the other two hosted a peculiar kind of performance.

  I walked over to the left stage and watched.

  A naked man was hanging from the beams that were bent to form a triangle with the floor. His wrists were cuffed together and chained to a point high above him. His legs were spread apart with each ankle tied to the base of a beam. He was stretched so tautly, his ribcage showed under his skin. However, the grimace I could make out behind the heavy trainer wrapped around his head probably wasn't due to the tension in his limbs, but to the similar stretching being inflicted on his penis, which was severely pulled to the ground. Around him, people cheered and counted off the elapsed time. Was he trying to set a new record or something?

  Feeling a little queasy, I went to get a drink at one of the counters running along the walls. Unfortunately, the Twilight was governed by the no-alcohol rule aboard the spaceship, so I had to make do with the equivalent of a soda. I settled into a couch near the second platform, the one with the ropework.

  A man dressed in a white lilk T-shirt and tight purple resina pants was helping a girl settle on a thin web of white rope supported by a heavy frame. The contraption was slightly tilted to offer a better view to the admiring crowd.

  The girl was attired in a waist cincher, bondage mittens and ankle-high boots, all of them bright red. She wasn't wearing a blindfold or gag, but a headband, very similar to the one used by Khiru to threaten me back on Earth, circled her head.

  Once she lay in the center of the web, she spread out her four limbs, and the man pressed a button on the frame. Nothing happened, except the girl was suddenly stuck to the mesh of ropes without any visible restraint. She looked like a bug caught in a spider's web.

  The man fiddled with her headband, lifted the frame higher until it reached an angle of sixty degrees, and withdrew from the stage.

  While he was gone, I caught the girl smiling to one of her friends in the audience. She looked relaxed and comfortable. I envied her.

  When her partner returned with a box and showed her what was inside, the girl tensed. The crowd tensed, too. I thought I could see her breathing accelerate, but it was my heart I felt pulsing too quickly.

  The man fished a thin phosphorescent tube in the box, uncapped it and lifted it up above the girl's chest. He waited a minute or two, both for her benefit and ours, and dropped a first tear of red liquid on her left breast. She winced. A second drop on the right breast. She pulled on her arms, the web hardly quivered.

  My temperature rose as much as hers.

  Dried drops, very reminiscent of wax, soon plastered her whole body. Red dots from the first tube, blue dots from a second one, green dots from a third one. A rain of burning confetti showered on the girl who was now clearly gone into what submissives call subspace. She thrashed not to avoid the pain, but to call for it. Every time her partner waited too long between drops, she groaned in frustration and stared at the tube longingly. I say "groan," but as far as I could tell, she might as well have yelled. No sound came from her open mouth. She was abnormally silent, as if her vocal cords had been severed.

  Once the girl's body was a constellation of colorful stars, the man swapped the tubes for a flogger. If he was trying to whip the wax off her flesh, he didn't do a very good job o
f it. Instead, he added pink stripes to the dot pattern. The girl didn't mind. In fact, her face and body expressed so much pleasure, the watching crowd began to pant and shiver in anticipation.

  Sweat was dripping under my resina skin. I clenched my empty glass and wished the show would end so I could have it refilled.

  After the girl finally came, her sudden scream followed by an eruption of applause, I ran to a counter where I gulped down two more sodas. Then I forced my shaky legs to carry me back to my room. Fortunately, fluorescent signs showed the way to the different levels on the ship, and I was soon safely back on the Blue floor, where the midday light was shining bright.

  I took the longest nap in my life.

  I needed three days to gather the strength to talk to Khiru. I hadn't mentioned my Twilight escapade to anyone, but I thought about it all the time. At first, my feelings were confused. I had been uncomfortable and scared, but also curious and eager. However, my fear had less to do with the scenes I had watched than the decision I was about to make. The desire in me was stronger than ever. This was what I wanted.

  I left a message for Khiru, asking him to meet me in my bedroom after work; he sent a short but positive reply ("will be there") and I spent two hours preparing myself.

  "Hi, Megan."

  He was right on time, smiling as if nothing had happened. His self-assurance was a dramatic contrast to my nervousness.

  I pulled a lock of hair away from my face and mumbled something silly about time passing by.

  Amusement flashing in his eyes, he took two steps forward. I stumbled one step back and banged against the desk. His hands gripped my waist, and he bent over to kiss my neck.

  Twenty minutes later, we were lying side by side on the bed after a thorough fucking. I was catching my breath and calling my brains back. The last thing I wanted was Khiru to walk away without hearing me out, all the more so because he refused the one thing I wanted.

  "Khiru, why won't you kiss my mouth?"

  He was embarrassed, but hid it well. "Well, that kind of kiss has a special meaning, and…"